


Unshaken

by MahTohSka



Category: Ghostbusters (Comics), Ghostbusters (Movies 1984-1989), Ghostbusters - All Media Types, Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Western AU, brief mention and/or appearance of RDR2 characters, but it's mostly an AU, meeting each other for the first time, no proton packs sorry, square one - first introductions, thought I'd put RDR in the fandom tag because it's set in this world, very loose crossover, western - alternate universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2020-07-20 01:04:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19983496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MahTohSka/pseuds/MahTohSka
Summary: Outlaws become unlikely heroes as a madman unleashes a demon onto the world. But the lawmen say otherwise about these so called heroes ...





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to write a western AU. I love Ghostbusters. I love the Red Dead Redemption games. Why not mix them together? Plus I wanted to see the boys and Janine pack some heat. This story is set in the world of the Red Dead Redemption games, same time period if not maybe a few years before the events in Read Dead Redemption II.

**Swamps of Lemoyne, 1889**

A full moon was casting its glow down on the murky waters of the swamp, the moss on the tree branches caught in the light; he trudged through the water, the rope over his shoulder as he hauled the small boat closer to his destination. It was hardly accessible by boat alone, the spaces between the trees hardly enough room for the oars, the area gator infested which deterred most people wanting to travel this way - but not him. It was the perfect spot to practice his magicks; secluded, natural defense system, able to peacefully bring chaos to the world around him. 

A hiss and low groan sounded to his left, lifting the lantern up to show his clean shaven, pock marked face; a large gator was making its way to the man, a few whispered words flew from his lips made the creature back down and swim away from him. He subtly sneered as the gator crawled away, cussing under his breath. Finally reaching the small shack on the one island in the middle of a grove, he pulled the pocketwatch out of his vest - half ‘til midnight; he quickly went to work preparing the altar inside the one room lean-to, the multitude of candles illuminating the intricate chalk and paint designs meant for summoning. 

Letting a few drops of blood trickle from his thumb into a small bowl with bones and herbs, a piece of fabric, and a lock of hair, he sat cross-legged across from the wax ridden altar, focusing on his deep breaths as he started the first incantations of the night, subsequently closing his eyes, concentrating his energy; his uninterrupted summoning chants were brought to a halt, the candles flickering out as the man felt a strange chill run up his spine. Goosebumps formed on the back of his neck, he could see his breath once he opened his eyes.

“Spirit?” his voice slightly hoarse from the nearly hour and a half chanting, eyes darting about the space before him. “Show yourself to me, who summoned you from Satan’s legion. Grant me your presence, demon.”

The lights of the candles lit on their own, a humanoid figure with a decaying ram’s head, tusks of a boar protruding from the grotesque features, a reptilian lower half as the demon started to curl its snake half around the human’s torso. The empty eye sockets bled a thick black ichor, like tar, the decomposing lips of the ram’s head curling into a snarl, fangs stained yellow showed themselves. The demon’s dirt caked, emaciated form towered over him, leaning down, lowly snarling. 

_‘Who are you, mortal, to summon one as malicious as I?’_ the demon’s voice rattled like a dying man, raspy and gravelly. 

“I-I am a mere humble f-follower of His dark magicks, great demon,” the man stumbled a bit over his words as the demon drew closer, the snake half still crawling up his torso, pinning his arms to it. “I-I wish to bring chaos and destruction to this world, f-for I have been cast aside by those I once called friends a-and family. An outcast.” He gulped. “I only wish to show them a lesson I am not one to be messed with, so I have summoned you to aid me. Where to start is your choice, I leave it to you. I will summon more, soon there will be enough to call upon Lucifer and spread hellfire on the earth.” The binding around his chest tightened, the tail end curling around his neck, the demon growling, causing the man to slightly panic thinking he was going to die, shutting his eyes tight. “I-I set you free, demon, to wreck havoc on the earth willingly and freely! Go and do what you will!”

The demon’s growls quieted to a deep purr. _‘It shall be done, mortal.’_ The snake half loosening and slithered off; the door behind the man flew open, the candles snuffed out by the wind. His eyes snapped open, scrambling to his feet, spinning around subsequently taking a few steps to the door. A smile gradually crept onto his lips, the beginnings of a maniacal laugh rung through the dense swamp woods, nearly sounding like a howl. The fruits of this labor was just beginning to sprout.


	2. An Outlaw Walks Into a Bar ...

**Valentine, a few months later, February 1890**

Cold. Snow. He hated it. Yet here he was. Trudging on horseback through the drifts hoping to find the main road into Valentine. Spotting a wagon up ahead, the rider felt relieved he was able to spot it, getting his horse through the snow banks steadily and onto the more paved down trail leading into the livestock town. 

“Howdy, stranger,” the bearded driver tipped his hat to the approaching cowboy. “Heading to Valentine?” 

“Any place than the desolation I just came through,” the scruffy rider grumbled as he brought his red roan to a walking pace. “Been riding for two days straight.”

“Oh, well, you’ll definitely be needing a hot bath and lots of rest. There’s a hotel in Valentine with decent rooms and a … little lady to keep you company while you bathe,” the driver gave the rider a wink. “James Colfield. What’s your name, son?” 

“Pete.”

“Where you come from, Pete?”

Will this guy ever quit yapping? “Everywhere and nowhere, Jimmy.”

“Ah, a free spirit. I used to be like that in my younger days,” James started to recall his youth. “Used to hunt buffalo for the Army, that’s where I got the nickname ‘Buffalo Jim’, I guided archdukes through big game territory, now I spend my time delivering handmade goods to the general store there in town.”

“Very illustrious, Buffalo Jim,” Pete trotted his horse a couple feet ahead of the wagon, having James bring his two horse team to a halt. Pete brandished his pistol, his scarf drawn up over his lower half while Jim talked. “Whatever you have for money, hand it over. Let’s both ride into town peacefully, quietly, and never discuss this little incident, shall we? You seem like a nice guy, Jimmy, but I got a mouth to feed. Mine.” His horse below snorted. “Okay, two mouths to feed. I’d ask politely but,” Pete huffed a small chuckle, “I ain’t the type to do that.”

James faintly scowled. “Listen, mister, I’m not the kind to be frightened by your type. How about you just keep on ridin’ and we avoid each other. I won’t leave Valentine until you get your scrawny rear out of there first.” The pistol’s hammer was cocked, James deeply exhaling in a growly manner as his scowl continued. “One more chance, buster, before I brandish my own and blow you to kingdom come.” He saw the rustler hesitate, seeing it in Pete’s blue eyes. A smirk crawled onto Jim’s bushy lips. “What’s the matter, son? Don’t have it in you now?” He paused. “Coward.”

Pete hated that word - ‘coward’. He’s been branded with it for so long it’s earned him the nickname ‘Chicken Pete’ and ‘Peter the Cowardly’. He’s had to prove he wasn’t a coward by killing anyone (innocent, that is) deemed to be killed, only to come up short on execution; he relied on his intimidating stare and pistol to scare people into giving whatever they had on them. His reputation for running away from outlaw bands at the moment of their demise was known throughout the entire country. Rustling, robbing, beating people up to get debts owed, firing back and killing enemy gangs in defense, he could do - but killing a man in cold blood? His arm shook as he couldn’t bring himself to do it, Peter eventually placing the hammer back and stormed off on his horse towards Valentine, leaving James to shake his head and continue his way in the same direction.

Christ, he needed a drink. He pulled up his horse to the hitching post, taking a second to admit his defeat just a few moments ago and dismounted; upon entering Smithfield’s Saloon, he found it to be filled with people looking for a warm place where there was alcohol. Peter strolled up to the bar, taking the open spot next to a napping drunk; he glanced down at the snoring patron to his right, noting the dark hair was growing out almost to his shoulders, parted to the right as it covered part of his face, a rather bushy black beard was prominent. 

The bartender strolled up to the pair, shaking the man’s arm. “Hey, buddy, the bar ain’t no place for sleepin’.” The drunk snapped awake with a snore. “If you wanna sleep, there’s rooms upstairs or the hotel across the way.”

“Oh … sorry,” the bearded man lowly apologized. 

“It’s okay, chief, he’s stayin’ with me,” Pete put an arm around the drunk’s shoulder. “I’ll take a bottle of whiskey, please.” He laid whatever he had left for money on the counter, getting a shot glass and a bottle of liquid warmth in its place. The first shot went down with ease, Pete exhaling in satisfaction. He poured a second glass, taking his time sipping it as he leaned down on the bar, glancing at the bearded man who took another sip of his beer. “I’m Pete. Peter Venkman. You look a little worse for wear, my friend. What’s eatin’ ya?”

The man remained silent, lost in his own world. Peter snapped his fingers by the guy’s ear to get him to look at Venkman; getting the response he wanted, he asked again. “I’m inquiring about your current state of mind, amigo. Let’s find a spot where we can chat, okay?” Peter pulled at the man’s jacket, escorting them both to an unoccupied table near the front windows. He sat the man down first before taking his seat, in a clearer light, Venkman saw the bearded man had different colored eyes - one green, one brown. His fingers looked sooty and worn, the hands of a blacksmith; his rounded features also carried small smudges of soot along his cheeks, and parts of his forehead. 

“Let’s start with introductions again, shall we?” Peter lightly cleared his throat, gesturing to himself. “Peter Venkman.” He pointed a finger to the bearded man who put on an annoyed stare but it softened when he deeply exhaled through his nose and answered. 

“Ray Stantz.” He didn’t want to talk to anyone, but either this guy was genuinely trying to befriend him or seem to then end up mocking him and saunter away like most did. Stantz hardly made any friends since moving to Valentine a couple months ago, only speaking with his employer, Mr. Levi at the stables, and a few customers. This cowboy with the scruff and somewhat thinning hair looked concerned about him - might as well go along with it and see what happens. 

“What brings you to Valentine, Ray?”

_I ended up killing the entire town I made a good living in, only for it to be burned to the ground, along with my wife and two girls. I ran away from it, but I’m forever haunted by the deed I’d done._

“Just looking for work,” he lied. “My trade is blacksmithing.” 

“You’re a blacksmith, alright. But you hesitated after I asked you why you’re in this godforsaken town of all places,” Peter sat forward. “What’s the real reason?”

“Hey!” a voice interrupted the pair. Standing behind Ray were two mean looking men with glares matching their attitudes. One had stringy brown hair and thick stubble, shoving Ray in the shoulder with a hard finger. “I recognize your name. My brother lived in the same town that had your shop. I’ve been there a few times. Nice little town.” He paused, leaning down over Ray’s shoulder, placing a hand on the edge of the table and the other on the back of the chair. “Too bad when I came to visit him, the whole town was charred and burnt rubble. I found my brother’s carcass among the others.” He shifted his weight, getting close to Ray’s troubled stare. “I heard the blacksmith in that town went batshit crazy, torched the place. Even his own lady and kids burned to a crisp. Now, what do you have to say for your actions, mister?” 

Venkman was taken aback by the whole ordeal unfolding before him. How can a man as innocent looking as Ray do such a thing? The hand on the back of the chair moved to slam Stantz’s forehead onto the table, the man backing off as his lips curled into a snarl. 

“You killed my brother, you bastard!”

“I-It wasn’t my fault! I swear!” Ray exclaimed, rubbing his head. 

“Then whose was it? The devil?” the man sneered. 

A moment’s hesitation filled the air, but Peter nearly believed Ray when Stantz answered, “Yes.” 

The greasy haired man snarled, “Bullshit.” He went to beat Ray to death when Peter stood and whipped out his pistol, the barrel aimed at the man’s head. 

“Leave him alone, or I’ll blast your brains out, muchacho,” Venkman threatened.

“This ain’t your business, cowboy!” he sneered, knocking Peter’s Colt out of his hand and socked him in the jaw, grabbing Ray by his shoulders as he shoved Stantz over to his friend, pinning Ray’s arms behind him. Ray’s vision became stars as fists laid on his face and gut, his lip split, nose bleeding; Venkman gradually recovered from the punch, glowering as he came up behind the greasy haired man. 

“Kip!” yelled the man’s friend. Kip spun on his heels just as Venkman landed a blow to his jaw, Peter getting him in a headlock. Kip’s larger cohort threw Ray to the ground, uppercutting Venkman.

“Hey! Take this outside or I’ll sic the sheriff on you!” the bartender exclaimed.

Peter miraculously recovered from the blow despite the force delivered by Kip’s compatriot. “Don’t worry,” he grumbled, taking Kip by the scruff of his jacket, “we’ll take it outside alright.” He dragged Kip out onto the boardwalk, landing another punch that made Kip land on the road.

“Tear ‘im up, Tommy!” Kip snarled through a broken nose. Tommy gave Peter a big shove towards the post, Venkman felt a hard blow to his ribs as he turned around, feeling cornered. Another harsh punch to the gut, Peter shut his eyes fearing the worst when a shot rang out and the fists stopped; Tommy felt a bullet pierce his back by his kidneys, gradually turning around to see Ray aiming Venkman’s Colt directly at him. Peter craned his head to see Stantz with a glare in his eyes, lips curled in a snarl, Stantz fired another round that landed in Tommy’s left eye; as the behemoth sunk to the floor, Kip scrambled to his feet, whipping his own pistol out and fired two rounds, one hitting Ray in his gut and the other burying itself in his right thigh. 

As the gun was dropped, Venkman swooped in to catch it, firing a round that grazed Kip’s ear. “C’mon, with me!” Peter supported Ray as he rushed him to Venkman’s horse, Stantz having the adrenaline to get up and sit behind Peter once Venkman was up on his horse, the red roan galloping best it could through the snow going north east of town past the church. Kip mounted his horse quickly, two other cohorts that were in the saloon during the altercation saw what happened to Tommy had jumped on their horses, following Venkman briefly through Cumberland forest. 

“Stay with me, Ray!” Peter turned his head to his passenger, catching the three member posse coming after them, close on his tail. “Shit.”

Kip shouldered a repeater rifle, two shots grazed trees, however a third struck Ray in the shoulder, a fourth hitting his right side. Hearing Stantz’s groans, Peter grit his teeth, taking the risk to get off the main road and into the woods. Veering northwest they reached the Dakota River, a portion of it open for travel across; not seeing the warning signs of a winter storm, Venkman didn’t waste time, getting the roan across the water. Kip and his other two compadres skidded to a halt at the bank of the river, feeling the wind pick up around them, more snow starting to fall. 

“They’re gonna be dead anyway,” Kip growled. “Let the wolves have them. We gotta head back before the storm hits us.”


	3. It Will Come Again

Peter halted his roan on the other side, seeing the three men turn back around for Valentine. Panting he glanced over his shoulder to check on Stantz. The man was looking worse for wear, paleness was setting quickly, Venkman’s stomach wrenching at the beat up sight of him. 

“Don’t die on me, buddy,” he panted. “We’ll find you a doctor.” 

Gathering his surroundings, Venkman looked for a path, nowhere to go but the Grizzlies. Following a trail, it led them to a railroad track, Peter not seeing anything beyond that; a low groan from Ray informed Venkman to get a move on, the roan galloping across the tracks and onto the same trail they took. As if the oncoming weather wasn’t enough bad luck, Venkman could hear loud snarls coming up to his left; two wolves had started to chase them, nipping at the horse’s hooves. Maneuvering best to pull his sawed off shotgun from his saddle, he managed to kill one wolf, but the other stayed vigilant, succeeding in getting the horse to buck; Venkman and Stantz went flying off the roan, the horse galloping away as the wolf focused on the downed men, going for Ray first. Peter acted fast, his Colt whipped out, firing two rounds, one missing the creature as one bullet pierced the wolf’s ear; the beast yelped, his attention turning to Venkman, Peter blocked with his arm, attempting to fire but found the chamber empty. 

“Get off me, you mangy mutt!” Venkman snarled, thankful a shot rang out, killing the wolf before him. Peter stumbled back, regaining his balance, finding the source of the shot. Standing a few feet from them was an African American with a slanted wide brimmed hat, the crown pinched at the top. He wore a thick heavy used military coat, a burnt orange scarf wrapped around his neck, wielding a carbine; the man lowered his rifle, putting it back in the sheath on the saddle. 

“Lucky I found you two,” the man approached them, his Appaloosa following close behind, another horse sporting a recently killed doe and buck. He crouched next to Stantz, pressing a finger to his neck. Venkman shuffled his feet over to him, clutching his injured arm, whistling for his horse. The man put an arm across Stantz's shoulders, carrying an unconscious Ray to the trotting roan. “He’s got a pulse but he needs a doctor. Luckily,” he lifted Stantz onto the saddle horizontally, “I know one.” He got up on his Appaloosa, offering a hand. “C’mon. Hop up.” 

Venkman glanced at the unconscious body lying on his saddle, feeling sorry the poor guy was going through all this; he took the man’s arm and climbed up, the rider having a hold on the roan’s reins. “I’m Winston, by the way,” the man introduced himself. 

“Pete.” Venkman gestured to the downed man. “That’s Ray.”

“Doc and I are just up the road. He can fix you both up.”

_He stood in an open field, the wheat waving with the breeze blowing past him; no clouds in the sky, the sun shining down on him._

_“Ray …”_

_He spun around, turning his head another way to find the source. It sounded so far away, Stantz walked two feet before he heard his name again._

_“Ray,” said the voice closer this time._

_Turning on his heels he was face to face with the woman he loved dearly - Jenny. Ray started to tear up, staggering subtly to his wife, embracing her tightly, her arms gracefully wrapping around him._

_“I’m sorry, Jenny, I’m so sorry,” he quietly sobbed. “I-I didn’t do it … it … it was … I-I saw …”_

_“Shh, shh,” she pulled away, holding his face in her hands, “it’s okay. It wasn’t you. I came to warn you about the very thing that made you do it.”_

_“Y-you … you did?” he sniffled._

_“It’s going to come for you again, Raymond,” Jenny brushed back his hair that hung on his forehead. “You need to be ready for it. Once its work is done, there’s no stopping the chaos it’ll bring. You need to stop it before uses you, Ray. It’ll do the exact same thing, maybe even more.”_

_He was at a loss or words, trying to savor this moment as he stared into his wife’s eyes. He missed those beautiful blue eyes, her golden hair; Ray leaned into a hand, still holding her close to him._

_“How … how do I stop it? I don’t think I can.”_

_“You have friends now who can help you, Ray,” Jenny brushed a rolling tear away with a thumb. “Plus, I’ll be there.” She brought him in for a kiss, pulling away. “There’s another matter I need to inform you … the dead don’t stay dead.”_

_“What’s that supposed to mean?”_

_“There are forces out there that want to hurt people, to hurt you. Forces that you can’t see until they are provoked. Some of these things want to move on, others want to cause harm. Help those living afflicted by these things, Raymond.” The sky above them quickly turned grey, venturing on black, thunder and lightning clashed in the dark clouds. Ray saw a pang of fear in Jenny’s eyes. “It’s here …” Ash and billowing clouds started to swirl around them, Ray held his wife close to him, an unseen force trying to pull them apart._

_Jenny screamed as she was torn away from him, Ray was in a full sprint, crying her name. “Jenny! Give her back! JENNY!!”_

_**“Raymond Stantz … it’s been a while …”** _

_He was swept off his feet, landing on the ground. A half humanoid half snake demonic being with a decaying ram’s head came through the swirling cloud and smoke, Ray remembering voice that haunted him for months until he did the demon’s deed; his heart pounded in his ears, his breath quickened staring into the empty sockets of the ram’s skull as he scooted away._

_**“I am proud of the work you had done, Raymond. Such wonderful work. You are a perfect vessel for my doings, such an open and easy mind to influence …”** _

_“I refuse to do whatever you have planned,” Stantz spat back. “I won’t do your bidding!” He found himself backed up against a wall. “Leave me alone and bother some other poor bastard, but not me!”_

_The empty sockets burned hellfire as the demon leaned down towards the cowering human, snarling loudly._ _**“I will make you do it again, Raymond Stantz! There is no stopping me once I have planted the seed in that weak mind of yours, pathetic mortal. You already carry my mark. You will submit, human!”**_

_“NO!!” Ray pushed back, radiating a strange aura about him that caused the demon to slither away from him. The demon growled, sensing something had sparked within the human the creature was not aware of. “Go back to hell where you belong!”_

_The demon roared, charging the human. Ray braced himself, attempting to block, the demon’s claws swiped at his chest, getting a back handed blow that sent him back against the wall once more. Clawed hands gripped the sides of his head, feeling them apply pressure; Ray grimaced, a scream escaping his chest and out his mouth, he pulled back an arm, throwing a punch at the demon who went flying back into the mist._

Peter was socked in the jaw by the shouting man, he heard heavy footsteps approach the bed, a baritone voice calling out to Ray. 

“Mr. Stantz, it’s alright! Wake up!” Ray was shaken awake, his eyes snapping open to see a pair of dark brown eyes behind a pair of round glasses gazing down at him. The dark brows of the man subtly lifted at the reaction he was getting, smoothing his features out as Ray was starting to calm down; Stantz’s body ached all over, the cold was starting to get to him as he furiously shivered. 

“Winston, get me another blanket, please,” the bespectacled man calmly spoke. A dark skinned man named Winston came into view with another blanket, the large nosed man with dark wavy nearly curly hair pressing a hand to Ray’s forehead. “Fever is progressing …”

“Jenny,” Ray was starting to slip back into unconsciousness from exhaustion. “Jenny …” 

“Whoever this ‘Jenny’ is, Stantz, she ain’t here,” Venkman rubbed his jaw as he stood. “He’s been muttering that name ever since we got here, Doc.”

Stantz saw the demon’s face in his head, curling his lips into a snarl, hands reaching out for it; the tall doctor was able to grab Ray by his wrists, holding back a potential assault. “You made me do this, demon!” Stantz shouted, his closed eyes emoting with his features drawn together as he sneered. “You took her from me!”

“Get me a sedative!” the doctor called out. Winston acted quickly, going into the doctor’s bag, pulling out a folded leather case. He pulled up a stool, the doctor glancing at the case and muttered, “I would not prefer my personal stash, Zeddemore.” 

“What choice do we have, Doc?” Winston grumbled, pulling a needle out. The doctor pushed back, pinning Ray’s left hand above his head, putting the right down at Stantz’s side as to not upset the bandages on the man’s injured shoulder. 

_He was fighting the demon’s clutches, trying to free himself as the demon’s mouth was drawing closer, a rattlesnake protruding from it; it nearly got him, feeling the pinprick, Ray roared back, breaking free as he wrapped his hands around the demon’s throat._

“Quick … Winston …” the doctor managed to get out as the vice-like grip continue to tighten. Venkman attempted to get Ray’s hands off the man’s throat, cussing Stantz’s strength. Winston’s first effort was met with Stantz jerking away from his advance, he tried again, firmly holding Ray’s head down and tilted it to expose his neck and quickly plunged the needle in, dispersing the sedative. 

_The demon was gradually fading, the gray mist clearing to leave him in a room similar to the home he used to live in. The fireplace roared, Ray saw a woman with gold hair sleeping in the bed, his feet shuffled over to her, climbing into bed as he laid next to her, drifting off._

“Incredible,” the doctor’s voice hoarse as Ray’s hands fell to his sides, the tall man rising to his feet as he rubbed his throat. 

“A barely conscious man chokes you to death and all you have to say is ‘incredible’,” Peter rolled his eyes. 

“This fevered state has produced an extraordinary thing I haven’t seen before,” the doctor sat in the chair adjacent to the bed. “Most patients wouldn’t have the strength to do that. This overall experience observing him while you two were out hunting has been very interesting.”

Venkman was starting to get the creeps from this doctor, but something was very familiar about this man. “If you, uh, don’t mind me asking, doc,” Peter cleared his throat, “where you from … originally?”

The doctor glanced up at Venkman, rising to his feet. “I don’t believe I formally introduced myself,” he extended his hand. “Doctor Egon Spengler, originally from Blackwater.”

Blackwater. Venkman’s been there numerous times. But the doctor’s name struck an odd fear in Peter; he’s heard stories about this man, mostly rumors - he hoped. He was shaking hands with the Grim Reaper of Blackwater.


	4. Am I a Hallucination, You Sonofabitch?

“Have you been to Blackwater, Mr. Venkman?” Spengler asked.

“A few times, yeah,” Peter quickly released his hand from the shake. Spengler saw how uneasy Venkman looked once he mentioned his name and place of origin, he subtly squinted his eyes studying Venkman’s facial features to read any tics. 

“Have I done something wrong?” 

“To other people you have.”

Spengler let out a small chuckle as the doctor smirked. “Those are mostly rumors, Mr. Venkman. Stories. But to humor you, some are true.” 

Peter remained quiet as he watched Spengler turn his attention back to Ray; from what he’s heard, Spengler did more than rob a grave or two. If that man ends up mistreating Ray that could, and will, lead to his death, Venkman would gladly see Spengler hang. The doctor could see bleeding on Ray’s shirt, his brows faintly drawing together as he pulled back the blanket to the unconscious man’s waist. Those claw marks weren’t there before, four lines at an angle that didn’t seem too deep but would require stitching; Spengler subtly cocked his head to the side, grabbing a pair of surgical scissors to cut the torn shirt open. Venkman kept a watchful eye as he got closer to observe; Egon had retrieved needle and thread from his medical kit, dressing the wounds before making the first few stitches to close them up. 

The outlaw couldn’t help but notice a faint tremor in Egon’s hands most wouldn’t catch as the doctor patched Ray up. “Nerves?”

Spengler kept silent, getting the smallest claw mark closed, snipping the thread and moved on to the next. Venkman leaned on the footboard, putting his weight on a leg. “Now, why would an upstanding doctor like yourself have the shakes? If it was hereditary, sure, good for you, you can control it.” He saw the open leather pouch by Ray’s foot, picking it up. “But if it was something else …” 

He could feel a pair of eyes staring him down, Venkman glanced up from the pouch he was studying to see the doctor scowling at him over the rims of his glasses. “Listen, I just don’t want you harming my friend here,” Peter closed the pouch and tossed it back on the bed. 

“He’ll be fine,” Spengler mumbled, going back to his work. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Is that what you told the people who eventually died under your hands?” 

Egon paused the stitching, closing his eyes and opened them, deeply breathing through his nose. His left hand holding the surgical needle had a gradual tremor, he could feel a faint layer of sweat perspiring on his forehead, a gnawing itch spread through Spengler’s body as he fought back the addiction to use his stash of morphine and laudanum. He had been perfectly fine performing surgeries and standard exams under the influence, however under concentrated small doses to take the edge off; it didn’t take long before the need to take more overrode him. Reckless amputations leading to infection and death, a lobotomy that caused the patient’s suicide a month after the procedure (not to mention two more cases resulted in the same ending), general malpractice, causing the nickname ‘Grim Reaper of Blackwater’ to spread across West Elizabeth and beyond. 

A law agent had come to his office with a warrant, catching the doctor in the middle of a morphine trip, Spengler drawing a pistol he had on the desk, shooting the lawman in the head; as he stood there panting heavily, shock took over his system, the doctor quickly packing up shop and rode out. Trying to lay low as best he could, he found himself in the company of a gang of outlaws, befriending at least two of the members; Egon had spent a year with them before parting, looking to start his operations again, this time in Rhodes. A Pinkerton agent had caught wind of his arrival, intent with bringing him in. 

“Either you come quietly, Dr. Spengler, or I have no problem in dragging you out of here,” the ginger agent with a scruffy beard sneered after heated words were exchanged.  
A pistol was whipped out from the gun belt Spengler wore, the barrel square in the middle of the agent’s forehead. “You have ten seconds to walk out that door, or I’ll crack that skull open and make you dance the jig,” he threatened the agent.

“Hey.”

Venkman brought Spengler out of his reminiscing, the doctor snapping his gaze to the scruffy outlaw; Peter saw the man space out for a good two minutes, watching the tremor move to the other hand. “What’s going on, chief.”

The doctor gave a harsh sniffle, continuing his work once the shakes subsided. “Just a relapse,” Egon muttered. “Winston has been trying to get me to break the addiction. Some days it works.”

“And the others?”

“Self explanatory, wouldn’t you think?” Egon glanced at him over the rims of his glasses. Venkman gave a short nod, removing himself from the bed.

The door swung open, the cold wind howling outside; Winston had two rabbits slung over his shoulder from checking nearby traps, he pushed hard against the wind to shut the door, succeeding and locked it. “We’re gonna be snowed in for a day or two, should have enough food to last us until the weather calms down,” he announced, setting the rabbits down on the table. He glanced over at the bed ridden man. “How’s he holding up, Doc?”

“Stable, but received markings of an unknown origin.” The largest of the claw marks was closed up, two more to go, intrigued how the claw marks appeared out of nowhere - they weren’t there when Stantz was first brought in.

“And how are _you_ holdin’ up?”

Spengler took a moment to answer, the silence telling Winston all he needed to know. The relapses were few these past four months, but the times he’s found Egon passed out outnumbered. He lightly sighed out his mouth, taking his coat off, eyeing the weather outside. 

“How about you?” Peter came over to Winston, leaning against the wall as he faced him. “How did a guy like you ended up shacking with the goddamn Butcher of West Elizabeth?” 

Winston had a small grin in the corner of his mouth when he heard that moniker, giving a short huff of a chuckle. “He came across me and a couple of lawmen, I asked for his help, I was framed for a murder I didn’t commit. He shot them both right where they stood. One of them recognized Doc from a different warrant, anyway.” He paused, eyeing Venkman. “You’re not an undercover journalist or going to turn us in, are you?”

“I’m just making formalities here, is all. I wouldn’t want to be within ten miles of a Pinkerton, are you kidding me?”

“You’re asking every one of us here what our stories are,” Winston lightly shrugged. “I’m just curious why you’re so curious, Pete.”

“Curiosity killed the cat, Venkman,” Spengler was heard, wiping his hands clean with a rag. “Keep asking and I’ll personally perform an invasive head exam.”

“Thanks, big guy, I appreciate that,” Peter snarked. Silence briefly stayed before Winston spoke up.

“I didn’t have a place stay, really, after my time in the military,” he continued. “I don’t have a wife, kids,” he faintly shrugged again, “I was already on the run, needed to lie low, Doc knew some people who took me in for a short while. One guy in that group ended up running me out, though. I’m gonna kill that sonofabitch one of these days if I ever find him.”

“Mr. Clark was unwelcoming to me as well during my tenure with Misters Van der Linde and Matthews,” Spengler piped up, taking a seat at the table with coffee. “I’d like to preserve his body for display.” He paused, the rim of the mug at his lips as he added, “But he had an odd curiosity for the supernatural … even ignited my own.”

“That man gave me the creeps,” Winston gave a light shiver. “Like I said, I see him, I’ll kill him dead on the spot.”

Spengler’s words stuck with Peter as Venkman pulled himself from the wall and sat at the table. “You, a man of medicine, science … believes in ghosts? You’re pulling my leg, Spengz.”

“I heard of a doctor in England by the name of Doyle who is also curious of the paranormal, Venkman, I wouldn’t pigeon hole professionals of medicine into being only so close minded to things that can be beyond rational and scientific thinking.”

“Okay, Doc, then answer me this,” Peter leaned forward on the table, “have you been haunted by the souls of those you killed? Or are they hallucinations when you knock yourself out from your little stash?”

 _“Lemme ask_ you _something, Cowardly Pete …”_ came a voice Venkman hadn’t heard in years, they turned around to see a grisly apparition of an outlaw decorated with cuts and bullet holes, Peter gulped hard when he recognized who it was, _“am I a hallucination, you sonofabitch?”_

Venkman stared into the dead eyes of Big Joe, a former criminal Peter had gotten killed during a shoot out with the law while Venkman escaped. Joe never did like Venkman the second he met him, sometimes calling him 'Pussyfootin' Peter'; the ghost snarled at him, seeming to not have an advantage, but saw an opening with the unconscious man lying on the bed. 

_"I've been wanting to get my hands on you, Pussyfoot,"_ Big Joe growled. _"You handed us to the goddamn wolves, traitor! It was you who tipped them off!"_

"Me? A traitor?" Peter scoffed, standing, getting into his charming and deceiving demeanor. "No! Listen, Joe, I have a tendency to scurry even before they start blazing at us, yes. But I'm not the kind to snitch, okay? I may give off that feelin' to everybody, but I get my kicks until the party's over." 

_"Well, the party's over for you, Pete,"_ Joe sneered, vanishing into the body of Ray Stantz, possessing him. Stantz's body bolted from the bed, his left hand grabbing the pistol hanging on the back of the chair, his eyes washed over as white voids pierced Venkman's bewildered stare. A fired round was diverted when Spengler pushed Stantz's arm out of the way, the bullet cracking the wood, the ghost controlling Ray brought the barrel over to the doctor, however missing the intended kill and ended up grazing the left temple of Spengler's head as the doctor tackled the possessed man and wrestled the gun out of his hand. Joe headbutted Egon, reaching for the pistol again when Ray's body went rigid; a low beastly growl came from Stantz, a scream in Ray's voice pushed out as Big Joe was forcefully extracted by Stantz's own doing. All three men were taken aback by this feat, Ray fighting exhaustion but lost to it, fainting.

The ghost hovered above them all with a grotesque snarl on his face, dashing for Venkman; in a flash the ghost took over, making Venkman draw his own gun to his head, the barrel under his chin. Winston quickly stepped in, snatching the pistol away before it could be fired, socking Venkman in the jaw; it chilled Zeddemore to see white voids stare at him with anger, Joe charging him as Winston got him into a hold. "Get out of him, hellspawn," Winston growled, trying to keep his grip as the ghost possessed man was fighting back with inhuman strength. 

_'Ray ... Ray, wake up ... they need you ... help them ...'_

_"I ain't leavin' til he's dead,"_ Joe snarled, wrestling his way out of the choke hold. He pulled the second pistol Venkman hand on his belt, cocking the hammer, getting dramatic as he gradually brought the barrel to Peter's temple. _"He deserves to be with the rest of us, and everyone else he's abandoned!"_

Before the trigger could be pulled, Peter's body levitated off the ground by a foot, his body rigid, the pistol falling to the ground being caught by Winston as he set the hammer back in place; Spengler witnessed firsthand Ray snapping awake and ripped a fingerless leather glove off his left hand, a strange insignia burned into his palm. Ray had that hand focused on Venkman, rising to his feet; Zeddemore and Spengler watched in astonishment as Ray tensed his hand and pulled it back to him in a closed fist, the ghost getting yanked out of Peter. The apparition of Big Joe remained frozen, Stantz extended his fist, opening it up as small crackles of orange and purple lightning flared in his hand; the sigil on his palm began to glow a dark orange, his mismatched eyes glaring, a nosebleed was starting to form the longer Stantz held the ghost in his control. 

"Leave them alone," he commanded, the energy in the cabin growing heavy, a shot of orange and purple lightning spiked from his hand, causing a portal to gradually rip open as the ghost was sucked into it, the tear closing itself. Stantz immediately felt drained after performing that feat, coming to reality as he stared at his left hand in shock and astonishment. He slowly turned around to see Winston and Egon stare at him dumbfounded and somewhat terrified; neither men could fully understand what just happened, it shook all three of them to their core at this recent discovery.

Venkman came to, rubbing his head as he sat up, cracking an eye open at the three bewildered men. "The hell just happened?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note - originally it was Micah Bell that made Egon and Winston unwelcome, but canonically Micah joined Dutch's gang in 1899, so nine years too early lol You'll know who Clark is soon enough


	5. I Didn't Mean To

Venkman came to, rubbing his head as he sat up, cracking an eye open at the three bewildered men. "The hell just happened?"

“Good question … I … I don’t know,” Ray shuffled over to the bed, eyes still focused on his hand. The sigil on his hand became black, looking like a tattoo; he associated it with the demonic workings he was forced to do, but somehow made it serve another purpose. “It just … did something I didn’t expect it to.”

Spengler sat down across from Ray, examining the other’s hand. “How long have you had this?”

“Not long, few months. But … last time this lit up …,” Ray went silent, not wanting to speak of the horrific act the demon made him commit. The very thought of his wife and girls dying in that fire, the screams of everyone in that town, Stantz closed his watery eyes, a couple tears falling as he bowed his head. He let out a harsh sniffle, his body faintly tremored, shakily exhaling. “I … I didn’t want it to happen but … that thing … kept haunting me …”

“The demon you were hallucinating earlier.” 

“It was there in my head, Venkman,” Ray snapped his annoyed stare to him. “It wants me do its bidding again.” His gaze turned back to the sigil. “I won’t let it torture me into committing whatever he wants. Not if I can help it. When I was confronting it I … my resistance must have altered the mark’s purpose in a way.” He looked up to the others. “It’s never done that before. The only thing this,” he held up his hand, “has done is bring nothing but destruction.”

“Like torching that town you lived in,” Pete brought up. Winston and Egon turned their stare to Venkman, Peter gesturing to Ray. “Hey, it’s what he told me back in Valentine. Well … that one guy did, anyway.”

Ray remembered Kip and his brother; the brother was a horse trader, often coming in to get them shoed. He had a friendly demeanor, a gut busting laugh. Kip, from the times Stantz has interacted with him, was on the quiet side but polite; 

“I didn’t mean to do it,” Ray’s mumbling turned their attention back. “When it made me burn my home, the town, I felt … disconnected. Like I wasn’t the one controlling my body.” 

A flashback came to him - the town in a raging fire, seeing himself stand alone before it, his back turned to him. Moving to face himself, Ray saw his past self with a cold stare, skin a pale ashen gray, eyes bloodshot with the iris and pupils a dull orange. “A monster.” 

_His cold stare gazed at the burning buildings before him, the faint screams of those still alive reaching his ears; a man on fire stumbling his way from the inferno, soon collapsing to the ground. The demon stood behind him, a low purr sounded from it, pleased with the work done here, though one more thing must be accomplished; a cry had broken out from Ray’s left - his wife Jenny was limping towards him, her voice raspy from inhaling the smoke._

_“Ray … please …,” she choked a sob. “Wake up … what’s happened to you?”_

_**‘She survived …,’**_ _the demon growled, lowering itself to whisper into Ray’s ear, its thin bony hands placing themselves on Stantz’s shoulders._ _**‘Finish what you started …’**_

_Jenny was lifted into the air, Ray with his extended hand holding her up; she stared into those dead eyes - this wasn’t her husband. She felt a sharp pain starting in her chest, the fire spreading across her body the flames burned her from the inside out. As she was choking from her burning lungs, she could see a demonic figure right behind her husband, a grotesque half man, half snake with a decaying ram’s head and boar tusks - so this was the cause. Before the flames consumed her entirely, she mouthed ‘I love you’ to Ray, her body collapsing to the ground as the hold was released._

_It was like waking from a nightmare, the demon had let go of him once his wife was consumed by the fire; Ray had first tried to resist when the demon ordered him, but being the passenger in his own body he could only watch himself kill the only woman he loved. Once he was freed, it felt like he held his breath the entire time, he saw the chaos around him, panic setting in as he realized what happened; staring down at the sigil in his palm, the orange glow had faded to make it appear like a burned on tattoo._

_“Jenny … the girls …,” he thought aloud, running to his cabin only to stop at the burning body in front of him. He could make out her form, and the clothing, Ray’s face dropping into horror as he recognized the body as his wife’s. Stantz sunk to his knees, weeping that the demon made him do this; he wanted to hold her close, kiss her, all he could do now was watch in horror while she burned._

“I should’ve just walked into that fire and killed myself,” Ray mumbled, clenching his left hand into a fist. “I’d do anything to hunt that demon down and kill it with my bare hands.” 

“When this demon does manifest itself, perhaps you can,” Spengler wiped at the wound on his temple where the bullet grazed him. 

“If I can get this under control,” Ray opened his hand, staring at the mark on his palm, feeling vengeance take hold of him. He has to make this right. “Then … yeah … I can.”

“We might be snowed in for a while,” Winston piped up, looking out the window, “you got the rest of the winter to figure it out.”

  


**Late March, 1890**

The snow was halfway melted, spring’s first grass and vegetation had started to come alive, a man on horseback was traveling along the muddy road leading to Moonstone Pond. He had tracked down a buck for two miles, losing it to a small pack of wolves, the man letting out a disgruntled sigh as he rode back to his camp. His horse below him had suddenly stopped, the animal’s ears swiveling back and forth, the rider sensing something was spooking it. 

“It’s okay, girl,” he pet at the horse’s neck, “we’re just about there. C’mon.” 

When he gave her a small nudge to her ribs, an apparition of a rather large grizzly appeared right in front of them, the ghostly beast letting out a roar. The horse reared up, the man fighting to stay in the saddle but fell backwards into the mud and slosh. His horse took off, only the spectral bear standing above him snarling that shook the earth below him. The bear got down on all fours to attack, the man shielding himself and prayed for a miracle - hearing a shot ring out, he opened his eyes, seeing through the bear four men stood on the other side of the creature. 

A bearded fellow with a fox hat stepped forward, holding his left hand out that was strangely glowing from his palm, lightning a weird color shot out from it that zapped the bear, apparently the creature was hurt by this; the bear roared at them, paying the mud covered man no mind as the four men were its targets now. Another man, this one with glasses and a flat crown wide brimmed hat shouldered a double barrel shotgun, firing two rounds that also affected the ghostly bear; the downed man didn’t see bullets graze the trees, seeing the shotgun shells were white once the bespectacled man reloaded. 

A dark skinned man also carried a shotgun, firing the same type of rounds into the creature, while the cowboy with scruff took out a lasso, the loop large enough to wrap around the bear’s neck, the cowboy pulling tight as he tried to bring it in with help from the bearded fellow who made a lasso from the lightning coming from his hand. 

“Get the box!” the cowboy yelled. The man with the glasses fetched a medium sized wooden box from the wagon, positioning it to face the apparition as he held it, lifting the lid. “You get it from here, Ray!”

The bearded fellow, Ray, pulled the bear closer, his other hand touching a carved mark on the underside of the lid that activated a strange purple light from the lead lined box, the air around them grew heavy as a vortex started to suck the bear into it. A bright flash of light exploded from it, fading once the bear was contained; the lid shut and no sign of the ghost around, the four men looked pleased with themselves at the success. The terrified man stumbled to his feet, staggering a few steps before stopping. 

“Hey, wh-who are you guys?” What he just witnessed he could never unsee, taken aback by the ghostly image he never knew could exist. The fact that four men somehow were able to trap this monster was flooring him.

The four glanced at each other, unsure of what to call themselves. The one called Ray spoke up, “We’re uhh … the ghost … hunters.”

“Ghost hunters?” the cowboy scoffed, shaking his head. He approached the dumbfounded man. “Hi. Pete Venkman. Look, what you just saw a lot of people in the surrounding area would have the same face as you have on right now. We just started doing this so there’s a few kinks to work out …”

“But you didn’t answer my question,” the man butted in. “Who are you guys?”

Peter was trying to think of a good name for their small gang when Winston piped up behind him.

“Ghostbusters,” Winston called out. “We’re the Ghostbusters.”

“Ghost … busters,” the man slowly nodded, still trying to piece together what the hell just happened. He nervously chuckled shaking his head. “Strangest thing I’ve ever seen but … thank you. All of you.” He extended his hand out to Peter. “Cody Lewis.”

When they shook, Peter noticed the man’s hands were cold as ice, hiding his surprised stare as he smiled. Venkman returned to his comrades, hopping into the wagon as the four rode off; the man who named himself Cody Lewis turned deathly pale, his eyes turning blind, his corpse falling to the floor as a man in black approached the road, having hidden himself from the encounter. He had used the corpse he found, manipulated back to life, knowing a ghostly bear had been haunting the mountains; it was only a matter of time that he found it. He was going to use it for his own gains, but his plans were interrupted by four men - two of which he recognized.

The man in black’s lips curled into a nasty smile. “Spengler and Zeddemore … fancy seeing you two. We’ll meet again soon. I’ll make sure of that.” He had noticed the bearded fellow had the mark of the demon he summoned months ago, sensing the demon’s power over the man had been altered to serve another purpose but no matter - the demon will claim him in the end.


	6. Beauty Killed the Beast

**June, 1890**

“Valentine! Next stop, Valentine!”

She was woken from her nap by the announcement, but was damn glad to finally take a breather and get out of this damn dress for a while before landing her next target. Having just inherited a wealthy sum of money from her recently deceased and rather elderly husband, as she often did in a span of two years (or earlier if the husband died of natural causes), it was custom for her to lay low until a new opportunity arose. 

“Valentine,” she overheard a young man in a derby hat ask his friend, “isn’t that the place those … whatever they’re called … y’know, the fellas that claim ghosts are real and capture them …”

“Ahh they’re just like any other snake oil salesman,” the friend dismissed it with a small wave. “Just a bunch of smoke and mirrors.”

“But I heard one of them fellas shoots lightning out of his hand! They’d have to have a big machine like this engine in order to do that!”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“People across the whole state comin’ to see them, Roy! My cousin Beatrice told me she was getting attacked by the ghost of a nasty ex-lover, they came and captured the bastard! I’m tellin’ ya, maybe these guys are for real.”

“You’re full of shit, Delmar.”

“Am not. You just never opened your mind to the possibility that there are things we can’t see until they want to show themselves.”

“Very interesting,” she said to Delmar. “Sorry to interrupt, boys, I couldn’t help but catch your conversation.”

“Oh, uh, no trouble, ma’am,” Delmar gave an acknowledged nod. “See, I’ve been to a seance or two visiting a friend in New York City, strangest thing but it opened my views to another world.” 

“It’s fascinating, isn’t it?” she played along. “Y’know, I’ve always had these little inklings, you could say. Like knowing something bad or good is going to happen to someone.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, Mrs …”

“Miss, actually, at the moment. Miss Janine Melnitz.”

Delmar gave another small nod. “Oh, sorry, Miss Melnitz.” He leaned towards her in front of Roy. “If you don’t mind my asking, can you sense anything from me?” 

She saw he was a handsome gentleman, soulful brown eyes matching his skin tone; he looked to have a promising future, a beautiful wife and daughter. It’s true she had faint inklings but nothing to give out in full detail from reading a person, and it was something she never sought out to strengthen and change her career to be a medium. Her current line of work was the money maker. 

“You’re going to be just fine,” she told him, giving a warm smile. “You’re gonna have a precious daughter and a secure job.”

Delmar sat back in his seat, giving Roy a small slap on his arm. “Ya hear that? I’m gonna be a father!”

“She’s pulling your leg, dummy,” Roy grumbled. “She’s just saying that like she does to every man that asks her that, probably.” 

“I’d tread carefully, Roy.” He snapped his gaze to her, crossing his arms as he eyed her suspiciously. 

“Why’s that?”

“Because when you get off this train at Valentine, there’s something there that’s waiting for you, and it won’t be the welcome party you’re looking for,” a wary look in her eyes came over them with a cautious tone as Janine spoke.

The train was crawling to a halt at the station, Roy starting to get a small twitch of anxiety the longer he stared at her intense gaze. Shaking it off with a gruff grunt, he quickly rose from his seat, eager to get off the train; Delmar watched dumbfounded as his friend stormed off, casting a faint worried glance to Janine. 

“Is that true, Miss Melnitz? I mean, Roy’s got some bad blood in this area with a couple of fellas he shot there a long time ago. Is he gonna be alright?” 

“He will be,” she watched Roy stand impatiently at the nearest exit ahead of them as the train finally stopped, he shot her a quick glare before getting off. “I just wanted to scare him a bit.” Janine sighed through her nose,knowing her warning to Roy was a fact. It would be a matter of time for it to come true. She bid Delmar goodbye and exited the train, glancing around the depot after she retrieved what little luggage she carries with her after inheriting the money, selling all the dresses her late elderly husbands bought; she spotted two gentlemen across the way - a cowboy was speaking with the clerk behind the counter as his tall associate with the glasses stood by looking ready to pull the cowboy away from the booth. 

“They raised their price?! A month ago, we paid for these! But you’re saying we owe you more?!” Venkman’s voice was rising. “I don’t believe this! We can’t pay the full amount, so how about you just hand our goods over and let us go about our day.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I cannot do that. You have to pay the new price for this special kind of ammunition you requested and for that kind of commission, they are charging extra for labor and parts, on top of the regular pricing. I’m just the messenger, sir. They sent the telegram with this new shipment, there’s nothing I can do.”

“Oh yeah?” Venkman drew his pistol, bystanders watching audibly gasped, some fleeing the depot. The tall bespectacled man stepped forward, forcing Venkman’s arm down. 

“Venkman, please, we should have enough to spare us over another month. By then we should have enough,” he advised. 

“This can only stay for a week before it’s shipped back, sir,” the clerk noted. “If we do leave it here for a month, we would have to have you pay a fee for storing it in our facility.”

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” Venkman and Spengler’s gaze turned to the source of the voice - a petite red haired woman in mourning attire, a shy grin on her lips. “If I may, I have recently come into a large inheritance, perhaps I could pay for your goods.” She glanced at the two men, the one called Venkman took a couple steps to her, holstering his pistol. His tall associate gave her a quick look over before averting his gaze, she could see his ears turning slightly red. 

Peter pushed his hat back with his index finger from under his front brim as he gently rocked in his boots. “A pretty little lady such as yourself? Think you can a poor fella out? I can pay you back somehow, maybe a dinner?”

“We thank you for your offer, miss, but we will politely decline,” Spengler attempting to stop Venkman from saying anything further. “Let’s go, Venkman.”

“It’s no trouble at all, really,” Janine stepped towards Egon. “At this point, money is no object. How much was the amount?” She was close to him, he could smell her lavender perfume, the scent intoxicating; his lips became dry, the words caught in Egon’s throat. “Would five hundred be enough?” 

She reached in her purse, slipping the money into Spengler’s hand who absentmindedly took it. Egon continued to stare into her hazel eyes, studying her features before having enough and practically slammed the money on the counter, hiding his sudden besmitten appearance as he volunteered himself to fetch the ammunition sitting on the platform outside. Venkman and Janine exchanged a puzzled glance, Peter shrugging as he soon smirked that the slightly terrifying doctor had suddenly fallen in love. 

“Looks like beauty killed the beast,” he commented, tipping his hat to Janine. “We appreciate the help, ma’am.” As she watched Pete exit the depot through the same door Spengler went through, the inkling was back, Janine gathering what she needed to know about these two men. Both criminals, but also the ones Delmar spoke of on the train. 

Ghostbusters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holyyyyy crap. Okay, first of all I should've said something at the end of the fifth chapter that I would be on an unexpected hiatus from this story. I was in a musical, and the rehearsal process and doing the shows really drained my energy for writing anything, really. I'm slowly getting my mojo back after we closed our show back in the end of October. Be patient with me, and will be posting on a more regular schedule once I get back in the groove. Thank you so much for everyone reading this!


	7. Something Catch Your Eye?

Venkman sauntered out of the depot to the platform to help his smitten comrade, his smirk plastered on his face; Egon had a crate of the commissioned ammunition loaded on the wagon when his stare was met with the grin Peter could not take off. 

“What,” Spengler grabbed another crate. 

“Something caught your eye, Doc?” With getting no response from the taller man, Peter stopped the man in his tracks, placing his hand on Spengler’s shoulder; getting a side eye glare from the doctor, Venkman didn’t pull back. “Look, I’m just trying to help you out here. You looked like you were going to faint in there with the way she looked at you.” 

Spengler further ignored Venkman as he loaded the second and further third crate onto the wagon. He stopped briefly after the third crate remembering the way she stared up at him - it was her eyes that he couldn’t get out of his head. The way the sun lit those hazel hues, it broke something inside him that made Spengler’s stomach do flips and his heart pounded louder in his ears. Not to mention the overly intoxicating scent of lilacs that flooded his nostrils, how he wanted to take a dive and be lost in her sweet embrace. 

“Earth to Doctor Spengler,” Peter snapped his fingers by Egon’s ear, the taller man snapping out of his trance. Venkman could see the man was absolutely smitten over the brief interaction with the woman. He lightly grinned. “C’mon, the guys are probably wondering what happened to us.” He didn’t want to push Spengler’s buttons any further, hopping into the seat and grabbed the reins. Egon took a deep breath, grounding himself with his surroundings, joining Peter as they headed back to their camp on the outskirts of Valentine. 

Roy sat himself down on the bed he had rented for the night at the hotel in town. He let out a sigh, shaking his head as he shook off the woman’s comments about him getting an unwelcoming party once he got off the train. He didn’t want to be reminded of his sordid past - he had killed two men after having an argument with them, a petty fight over a woman. Besides, the idea of the dead coming to haunt him sounded ludicrous but there was a small nagging feeling in the back of his head that what if the dead can haunt the living. No. Ghosts don’t exist. He grumbled to himself, needing some air and a drink, walking down stairs and headed across to the saloon around the corner closer to the station. 

As he rounded the street by the gunsmith’s, a harsh wind nearly swept him off his feet. Roy fought against it but ultimately lost, being knocked back about a foot from where he stood. Onlookers watched the phenomenon with shock, two disembodied voices cackled, the air growing heavy on the street; Roy sat himself up on his elbows, eyes landing on two floating apparitions of two men in ragged clothes that hung on their almost skeletal frames, their thin skin in various stages of decomposition. Through their grisly appearance, Roy recognized them as the two former gang members he shot years ago - realizing that this was the spot where they died. 

_“Well, well,”_ one ghost with a goatee sneered, _“if it isn’t Black Roy. We’ve waited a long time for you, you bastard. You took the woman of my life! Ellie didn’t deserve to be with you!”_

_“She was supposed to be mine, too, Bert!”_ the other specter growled. _“She didn’t want to be with either of you! She told me herself!”_

“Look, fellas, I-I don’t want no trouble. I’ve moved past the petty quarreling we did,” Roy sat up, holding his hands up defensively. “That’s how you two died in the first place.”

_“By your gun, ya rat bastard,”_ Bert growled. 

“I was young and hotheaded, Al, I didn’t mean to do it! It just happened so sudden! ‘Sides, Ellie didn’t like either of you, she was steadfast on marrying me, and we did,” Roy rose to his feet. “I’m a new man now, guys, and I don’t wanna deal with you two no more, now get lost!”

_“Get lost? Get_ lost, _Roy?”_ Albert inched closer to his ex-friend. _“Me and Ben ain’t done with you, you sorry sack of shit.”_

On instinct, Roy whipped out his pistol he had hidden behind him under his coat, firing a shot at the ghost of Albert; the two ghosts glanced at each other, busting out a belly laugh that sent a chill down Roy’s spine. The human panicked, eyes widening in terror as the ghosts started to rush him, Roy spinning on his heel and turned to run a few feet before tripping and landed in the dirt. The ghosts were almost upon him when a shot rang out, Ben giving a cry of pain as rock salt assaulted his ghostly form. 

The two ghosts turned around to see four men standing on the opposite end of the street, two of them armed with a rifle and a shotgun, a third with a lasso while the fourth man had a strange purple and orange glow forming in his exposed left hand; Albert and Ben fully faced them, meeting the group halfway, settling their beef with Roy would have to wait. These four men intrigued the two apparitions.

“That was a warning shot,” a cowboy with light scruff called out to the ghosts. “Next time, we won’t be so nice. You had your fun with the poor guy, now vamoose.” 

_“We were just getting started,”_ Albert grinned, half of his yellow teeth missing. _“If you’ll excuse us, can we finish our parley with our friend here?”_

“I dunno,” Peter shrugged. “Can you?” He paused, the ghosts snarling. “Last chance, boys.”

“Go to hell,” Ben sneered. 

“Have it your way,” Peter sighed, getting his lasso ready. “String ‘em up, boys!”

Albert and Ben rushed at them, Spengler and Winston picked a ghost each, weakening them with the rock salt ammunition. The ghosts were flown back, roaring out as they charged again, Albert missing Peter’s lasso and a bullet from Winston; Ben looked more worn than he already appeared, Spengler quickly reloaded his shotgun and fired again, Ray formed a lasso with the purple and orange stream that flowed from his hand. He kicked at the stronghold box that lay at his feet, the lid popping open as a vortex sucked Ben in, Stantz closing the iron lined case with his boot. Albert watched his friend be trapped, letting out a shriek as he rushed Ray. Stantz ducked out of the way before he fashioned another stream of the strange light to catch Albert, the end of the streak wrapping around Al’s throat. 

The ghost bucked and writhed as he tried to get the makeshift lightning noose off him; Winston and Spengler fired once again, Albert growling from the rock salt making his body sting from the shots. Venkman picked up the box, giving a little smirk as he lifted the lid, a bright light shined as the same vortex began to pull Al inside. Ray let go of the apparition once the ghost was stuck in the suction of the otherworldly whirlpool, Albert screamed as he was sucked in, Peter shutting the case. The atmosphere calmed, civilians that hid and watched the show were astounded at the display that happened; Roy gradually got to his feet, dumbfounded from what he saw. 

He couldn’t believe his eyes, the woman’s words from earlier came back to him as if to say ‘told you so’. Roy staggered over to the four men who were approaching him, the five meeting in the middle. 

“I … uh … th-thank you, gentlemen,” he seemed out of breath, a little shaken from the recent event. “That … I …”

“No need to thank us. We’re just doing our job,” Peter clapped Roy on his shoulder. “We do, however, ask for a small reward.”

“N-Name your price,” Roy was rifling through his pockets for his money clip.

“Let’s say … two hundred. Hundred for each spook.”

“Little too high, Venkman,” Ray muttered under his breath towards Peter’s ear. 

“T-Two?”

“Okay, we’ll halve it, fifty each. Flat specialty fee of a hundred. Just for you,” Venkman lightly sighed. 

“N-no, no, I can pay the full price,” Roy handed the two hundred over. “I thought I was going to lose my head. Thank you.”

Venkman took the two hundred with a faint brief smug on his face. “Nothing to worry about now, my good sir. Your troubling compadres won’t be coming back, thanks to the Ghostbusters.”

Roy gesticulated with a pointed finger. “My friend Delmar was talking about you fellas earlier. I didn’t believe him or the lady at first before I got off the train, but this … this opened my eyes. Thank you, again.”

“Our pleasure is our business,” Peter lightly grinned. “Have a good day, sir.”

Spengler stepped forward. “Were you on the same train as this woman you speak of?” Roy nodded. “Did you catch her name?”

“Miss … Mel-something … Melnitz?” Roy gave another nod. “Yeah, Miss Janine Melnitz. You know her?”

“Not entirely,” Spengler trailed off a bit, his eyes spotting a woman across the way on the boardwalk wearing cowboy attire, her shirt a dark blue, tan trousers and a wide brimmed hat pushed back on her head. He briefly locked eyes with her, putting a name to the face he saw. “She helped pay for our ammunition. I wanted to personally thank her for her generosity, but didn’t catch her name.” He gave a short nod. “Thank you.”

“No, thank _you_ for what you did,” Roy was overly grateful for what Spengler and his cohorts did, shaking Egon’s hand before resuming his trek to the saloon. 

Spengler looked up to see the woman walking away, catching a quick glance from her before she resumed walking. He started to walk backwards a few paces subsequently turning around to catch up with the others, repeating her name over and over in his head. 

Janine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho boy. Getting back into this fic took a lot of time to get the feeling back. I hate slow updates. I'm getting my writing groove back slowly but surely. I got two or three other fics I'm writing, but this desperately needed an update.


	8. A Chance Meeting

She had to be careful. Their camp may be small, but she knew they probably had an armory; using the night as cover she hitched her horse to a tree yards away, sneaking her way closer, she spotted the taller man of the four was on guard, but had his back to her, two others were sleeping, she couldn’t find the cowboy among them. Must be in Valentine doing who knows what. 

Inching closer stealthily, she found not one but two lockboxes; her foot landed on a branch that snapped, getting the guard’s attention for a second before a small pack of coyotes yowled nearby. He moved farther from his post, wanting to take care of the intruders before the horses get spooked - this was her chance. Janine got to one of the boxes, using her lockpick to undo the iron lock and get the treasure. Her attempts were cut short when she heard a pistol’s hammer being cocked to her right. 

“I wouldn’t do that,” came the baritone voice of Egon as he stood over the robber. He couldn’t see through the shadows well enough to see who it was, the dull light of the fire was far away to obscure his vision as well. “If you think there’s money in there, guess again. If you are looking to rob us, turn back or I will plant a bullet in your head.”

“That’s no way to talk to a lady,” Janine whipped her pistol out, standing and pointed it at him. “I just need a little bit of money is all, can you help a poor woman out?”

He recognized that voice, he was dumbstruck for a moment before finding his mental footing. “I thought you inherited a large fortune, you said so yourself,” Spengler kept his defense up. 

“There wasn’t much left after his kids saw through my scheme, only one of them had the decency to send me away with something, a meager thousand. Half of which I gave to you, by the way, so I expect something in return,” Janine explained, her Colt Peacemaker trained on him. “My line of work usually brings in the big bucks, but I was on the short end of the stick this time.”

“Kill one rich elderly husband and move on to the next, a gold digger,” Spengler lightly smirked. “You only hear about those in New York or across the sea.”

“Gold digger, please. I’m not like those pathetic amateurs,” she scoffed. “I prefer the term ‘black widow’, I take great pleasure in my business. Every lonely mogul with a big country estate are much more valuable than the ones with mansions in the inner city. Added bonus, very few people out in the country, perfect isolated atmosphere to do my work.” She glanced down at the chest she was picking at. “What’s in there anyway if not money?”

“You saw what happened to those ghosts earlier, although Raymond is feeling uneasy these days.” Egon stole a quick glance over his shoulder at Ray sleeping under his half tent. “There’s only so much spectral energy we can keep locked in these iron lined chests. He suspects something big is coming, and it’s not just his personal demons.”

Janine paused, seeming a little weirded out despite her own psychic inklings. She had only met two of the four men earlier, and this one she was taking a liking to, and she saw into Spengler that there were mutual feelings being developed for her. Other brief glances into them gave her insight that there was goodness in some of them, or at least half of them were gaining some semblance of being good. Egon had an unassuming appearance, but there was something in his eyes that also read ‘dangerous’; getting quick insight into the sleeping men, Janine gathered Winston and Ray were the only men with goodness in their hearts deep down. 

“For a man who has little remorse for his past deeds, you seem awfully concerned for your buddy,” she pointed out. 

Spengler briefly fell silent, his heart nearly jumped a beat at her words, the paranoia setting in. He stiffened his pose, his finger wrapping around the trigger. “Were you sent by that red headed Pinkerton weasel? With words like that, you just broke your cover,” he growled, reaching for his other pistol and cocked the hammer. “If you turn to run I will not hesitate to shoot you in the back.”

“Iggy, Iggy, hey,” Ray’s mumbling voice came behind him as the waking man shuffled up to his tall compadre, Stantz tried to lower Egon’s arms. “Don’t shoot her, okay, she’s not a Pinkerton.” Spengler quickly glanced at Ray, his eyes darting back to Janine. “Jenny came to me to stop you. She’s not working for them.” Stantz addressed Janine. “Miss Melnitz, I apologize for Doctor Spengler’s sudden turn in behavior. He … he’s not fond of Pinkertons.”

“I can see that, I’m not fond of them either,” Janine was cautious as she lowered her weapons the same time Egon did. “I’m sure I’m also on their list.” She looked them both over with a cursory glance. “Who are you guys anyway?”

“Sit a spell and get to know us,” Ray gestured an open arm to the dull fire he was starting to walk towards. “Get some sleep, Egon. I’ll take over the second watch.”

“Sleep doesn’t seem to be a thing he adheres to,” Janine glanced at Spengler as she walked past him, noting that the man looks like he hardly sleeps at all.

“She’s right,” Egon confirmed her suspicion, setting himself up on a tree nearby, cradling a normal loaded Winchester he picked up as he kept watch.

Janine was almost shook by the sudden turn in demeanor Egon had the moment she said those words making him think she was an agent, that dangerous side of him came out of him tenfold; she saw he could’ve killed her instantly, though she noticed a small sliver of him was holding back - he was fond of her. Janine kept that in mind, nearly finding the killer aspect of Spengler quite attractive. She shook the brief encounter from her mind as Ray started to tell their stories and how they formed; one character popped up in Peter and Egon’s stories - the Pinkerton agent. 

That same night in Valentine, Venkman was at Smithfield’s saloon, chatting it up with another gunfighter traveling the country, Peter taking in the man’s gruff bearded appearance and slouch hat, thinking the guy was Australian. The two men were stumbling out of the bar to head to the other saloon round the corner when a familiar voice called out to Peter. 

“Mister Venkman,” Peter froze in his tracks, recognizing that tone, straining his neck to the side, a grimace on his face. “What a chance meeting this is. I didn’t think you were still alive. Mind if we chat?”

Venkman looked to his new friend who was only a few yards away. “Go on, Bill, I’ll catch up.” Peter shuffled around to face the one person he did not want to come across in a place like Valentine. There in his smug and smarmy glory was Pinkerton agent Walter Peck; his bowler hat neatly placed on his neatly trimmed and combed red hair, a light beard showing the small smirk he had in the corner of his lip. Dressed in a dark navy blue that was nearly black, a waistcoat of maroon, Peck sauntered up to Peter with two cohorts at his side. 

“Well, well, if it isn’t Cowardly Pete Venkman,” Peck couldn’t help but beam, a gleam in his eye. For years he had Venkman at the top of his list of criminals he wanted to see hang, it was only by pure coincidence (mostly) that he’d find him. “I thought we had lost track of you somewhere in the Sierra Nevada. Though reports came to us by our intelligence that you had meandered your way into this part of the country. And with some new friends as well.” Peck grabbed Venkman by his bicep with a grip firm enough to not come across as harsh, guiding the cowpoke to a nearby alley and behind the saloon. 

“Now, you can call me a half crazed snake but I might have a proposition for you, Venkman,” Walter lightly shoved Peter against the wall, his fellow agents flanking Peter. “I know who your compatriots are. One of them I’d like to see hang alongside you with great fervor, but … I can leave them to the local law enforcement, if you turn yourself in. Just tell the local sheriff who your friends really are, turn yourself in to us, you can serve, say, one year, then we can let you run free again.”

“And why are you so willing to let me run after spending that much of a sentence? I think from our past encounters you’d want me dead,” Venkman pointed at him before crossing his arms. “My ways are changin’, Peck. I’m helping people, I’m doing good out there. We all are. I say take your crazy ass plan back to Washington and leave us be.”

Peck started to chuckle. “You think you’re worth redeeming yourself? After what you’ve done? You think you’re all worth saving?” He got dangerously close to Venkman. “Truth is, none of you are worthy of redemption.” Walter leaned into his ear. “Bottom line, Venkman, you and especially that butcher of a doctor from Blackwater, are the only two who have damned your souls to the noose. Stantz and Zeddemore can be handed over to the local courts and given fair trial.” He backed off. “Or, I can offer you a better deal - turn them in, and we can grant you immunity. Work for us, be undercover. Being a mole for us works great to our advantage.”

Venkman looked Peck over, glancing at the other two agents looking to punch him before landing his eyes back on the agent. He hated Peck with every fiber of his being, what got into the agent’s head that would want Peter to take the new offer? Venkman theorized he did that to only lure Peter into a trap and shoot him dead by Walter himself the moment Venkman hypothetically turned the others in. Not if Peter can help it and shoot Peck first if it came to that. 

“Okay, Pecker,” Venkman lightly smirked at the nickname that caused the agent to subtly scowl. “I’ll indulge in that new offer. But only on my terms. Give me a few days, you’ll get ‘em.” He spat into his hand and offered it. “Deal?”

Walter looked at Peter’s hand in vague disgust, but shook it anyway. “It’s a deal, Mister Venkman.” They broke off, Peter dipped his hat and faced the alley as he watched the agents walk off. 

“You ladies have a good night!” he called out, soon muttering under his breath, “I’ll fuckin’ kill every one o’ ya sonsabitches next time I see ya.” Peter stumbled out of the alleyway a few minutes later, making his way over to the other saloon to meet up with his new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, back at it again! This fic is getting written, I swear. I think we're getting close to the end? I'd say maybe ... three chapters? At best? Whatever it turns out to be, I want to thank those of you I know for being patient with me. Inspiration for this fic is coming in spurts, but I'm getting there. Hoped you enjoyed this addition! (The new friend Pete made friends with is Bill Williamson from the Red Dead games - I got cameo appearances by Arthur and John in the works)


End file.
